Blue Lips [Delroy v Carbon, Day 7]
Nov 30, 2020 23:49:11 GMT -5
Post by marguerite harvard d2a (zori) on Nov 30, 2020 23:49:11 GMT -5
He stumbled into faith and thought
God this is all there is
The pictures in his mind arose
And began to breathe
On a cool November morning some eighty-six years ago, Taylor Wickersham woke wondering if today would be the day.
They had staked out the position of another group of capitol regiment outside of district eight, and even though the rebel forces had been ordered to retreat toward thirteen, his was pressing an advance. Not because they had any hope to turn the tide of a failed war. Only that they could water the ground with the blood of the capitol traitors. At least that’s what the older men in the regiment kept saying, that this would in revenge for all the men they’d lost over the course of the few months.
And Taylor had nodded along, not necessarily agreeing so much as daydreaming that he would send word to Uxue at the first opportunity. To tell her that he was safe, and that he’d send for her soon. He’d already thought what it would mean to leave eleven for thirteen, or the great beyond – somewhere up north far away from the world that they knew – but they were dreams, then.
Clutching his rifle in the silence of the pines that surrounded him, Taylor had waited for the signal to charge. For the exact moment that they press their ambush against the pack of men that stalked the same stretch of earth as the rebels. He could hear their footsteps, and prayed that the green and brown camo hid the umber of his cheeks well enough.
He went without fear when the whistle came.
Charging headfirst through the bush, right into sight of the enemy with their rifles already drawn. It only took two bullets to take him down. One that went in through his collar and out his back, and another under his lung, lodged deep. He swallowed a few breaths and fell then and there.
Another casualty at the end of a long war.
A boy used up, led to the slaughter, and forgotten.
Delroy had tucked himself behind a set of brush and earth that protruded out of the snow.
He’d been thinking of his great uncle since the anthem played. He’d thought about what he’d think of him, of the lives he’d taken for some muddied cause. Of Anari, who he’d killed in cold blood and called a murderer for. Of Mona, the girl from twelve who should’ve known just as much strife but still had tried to kill him. Of Zeus, taking his own life so Del could not. And Charlie, the girl from six who’d tumbled down into the snow, mocking his call for rebellion until the last breath.
Did his great uncle ever doubt himself, or the cause? Did he know when the war was nearly done, that they were pieces too small, too insignificant to bring about the change they’d ever wanted? Or that if they could get enough people to listen, that they’d ever have taken him seriously?
Here and now, he’d killed so many, Del wondered if he survived whether or not any of the districts would have anything but hate in their hearts for him.
He’d taken Shy’s advice and left at first light. If they were to meet again, he hoped it was over an open casket, and not here. The boy from two deserved better than he’d gotten, and Del didn’t think he’d have the heart to go through him to get home. Shy had taught him not to take his own words so seriously. He’d gifted Del with an understanding that he could listen and learn so much more without ever having to say a word. Often, people would reveal themselves exactly as they were when the silence was enough.
By noontime he was starting to get anxious. He could feel the sweat trickle down from between his arms, and the heat of the sun overhead even as the cold chilled his chest. Del kept a firm grip on the opalescent sword and crouched in the snow. He flinched at the first sound of a voice.
‘ Tux... halt boy. Let's stop for a while. You need a rest. He couldn’t quite place the pale boy – by process of elimination he guessed twelve. ‘Sorrel, I expect a flower crown when I see you again.’ He remembered the girl from seven being in the sky the night before.
It’s then the boy stepped over one of the holes only to fall, crashing like a shooting star. Del could see the reddening flesh as twelve pulled back his pants. Someone else had gotten to him first, and bad.
‘ Hey Doc… it doesn't look good does it? What say- elevation and rest? Round of antibiotics?’ The boy stayed in good spirits, and even Del couldn’t help but smile.
But he knew as the seconds ticked past, that he had a choice.
To hide and let the boy pass. To seek out someone else and hope the gamemakers didn’t flush him back toward the foxholes.
Or, he could rush forward, and take the life of a boy that was already struggling.
One that he didn’t know. One that had to hurt less than the last three he’d already taken. Someone who’d be dead before the revolution raised their banners and stepped forward.
A cannon sounded in the distance and Del prayed it wasn’t for Shy.
He took a breath and gripped his sword tight. His mind made up, he pressed up from the snow, and started hoofing it toward the boy from twelve.
There were only bad choices here, Del had come to realize. Only some of those would lead him back home. And today? He still wanted to get home.
“HRRRRAH!”
[Delroy Wickersham attacks Carbon Chem with his frostbite sword (sword)]
VrnKA|F|9Xsword
[result: 1094 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage (Sword)]
His sword glanced the boy, and he pulled back.
"You shouldn't be here!" He called out. "You got to get out, or get out of the way."
